The light bowl rubs my hand
sending soft assurances back through my dark alleys.
Time stops here. Clock faces turn around.
Music sits down to watch each dial and waveform.
A goblet of wires collects and carries each small thought
like sap from far away maple trees.
You are new here–from the indigo lake with snow geese,
flying over the quilted land you somehow found our field.
Berries, wax dolls, paper planes, criss cross applesauce–
they’re all here too for when your leaf shadow finds your body.